


everything starts at your skin

by freefallvertigo



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, First Date, Fluff, basically the doctor wears a suit and yaz is VERY gay for it, mostly this was just a convoluted way of having them get drunk and hook up, tiiiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefallvertigo/pseuds/freefallvertigo
Summary: “Maybe it was the drinking. Maybe it was the light, or a product of both wishful thinking and an overactive imagination, but Yaz swore she could see something like desire in the depths of the Doctor’s eyes.”





	everything starts at your skin

“It’s the biggest event of the century, trust me. I receive an invitation every hundred years or so but I’ve never bothered with it before. Things to do, you know?”

The Doctor and Yaz were in the TARDIS. Specifically, they were in the wardrobe, the size of which never ceased to amaze Yaz. It was bigger than her entire flat - which genuinely wasn’t an exaggeration. There were two floors to the wardrobe, ladders leaning against the shelves, and an honest to god staircase at the far end. The clothes were arranged by era, planet, formality, and there were entire chests full of footwear tucked beneath each subsection. Yaz, Graham and Ryan had all claimed their own small corners of the wardrobe upon arrival, though Yaz was the first to point out how unnecessary a task that had been. All of their clothes combined took up hardly a fraction of the storage space.

Presently, the Doctor was inspecting and disregarding various articles of clothing, opting to toss them dramatically over her shoulder rather than hang them back up or fold them neatly away. Yaz wondered if the wardrobe floor had ever been visible, because it certainly wasn’t anymore. What looked like a lifetime’s worth of clothing was strewn across the floor, looking to Yaz like the result of a child’s tantrum - or a stampede. 

“Oh God, polka dots _and_ stripes on the same cloak?” The Doctor shook her head, lip curled in distaste. The garment was soon to join the mountain of others like it on the floor behind her. “The 3020’s really are a bad year in the world of fashion. Well, the planet Fashion itself didn’t have such a bad year. Bit of a drought, but it is seventy percent desert, so.”

Once more, the Doctor’s mind had strayed and Yaz found herself with questions that remained unanswered. 

“Doctor, where are we going?” She asked, not for the first time since boarding the TARDIS that day. “You whisked me in here fifteen minutes ago and still haven’t given me a straight answer.”

”I told you! Didn’t I?” The Doctor straightened and turned to face Yaz, a ridiculous fez planted atop her blonde bob. “Sorry, may have slipped my mind. I’m a bit excited, that’s all. Yasmin Khan, you and I are going to be attending the bi-centennial, intergalactic Gala for Peacekeepers and Philanthropists! Oh, you’re gonna love it.”

”Uh, right. First of all,” Yaz frowned disapprovingly at the fez. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

The Doctor glanced upwards at her hat, as if only now remembering that she was wearing it. “Nah. I really used to be able to pull this thing off. Don’t think I have the eyes for it anymore. Shame,” She plucked it off her head but, instead off tossing it in with the rest of the heap, The Doctor placed it delicately back inside the cupboard she’d taken it from. She closed the cupboard door. “And second?”

”Second,” Yaz went on. “As happy as I am that _you’re_ happy about this gala, I still have no idea what to expect. What exactly goes down at these things? Who’s gonna be there?”

”Ah, come on, you never know what to expect when you’re with me,” The Doctor pointed out. “That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?”

The Doctor grinned a cheeky grin and then went right back to rummaging around in all her various closets and drawers. Yaz was forced to admit that the Doctor had a point; she did enjoy the aspect of the unknown that accompanied traveling with her. Since meeting her, she had been flung into the heart of danger, had looked into the eyes of those long since lost to the world, had saved lives, watched them end, cried from grief and joy on separate and simultaneous occasions...

And she’d loved it all. 

Even the parts she couldn’t bear to think about. 

So of course, whatever was in store, Yaz already knew she was going to follow the Doctor out of those big blue doors and behold whatever wonders awaited. It reflected a trust within her that she never thought possible, but one she cherished all the same. 

“So, are Ryan and Graham coming?” Yaz asked, perhaps laying the faux disinterest on a little thick as she looked away and pretended to peruse a coat rack. 

“I did ask,” The Doctor said, holding a garish colour-block turtleneck against her chest and examining herself in the mirror. “Dunno, they didn’t seem too keen. Said it’d probably be better if it was just the two of us. Not that I mind, girls’ night, eh? I can’t wait.”

A whisper of a smile tugged at Yaz’s lips and her cheeks went warm. She could already picture Ryan and Graham sniggering about the whole thing, but really, that didn’t matter. The Doctor was all hers for just one night. Hers, and everybody else’s who would be attending the intergalactic gala.

Still. Small victories.

”All right, then,” Yaz said, smiling. “Might as well check it out.”

”That’s the spirit, Yaz!” The Doctor beamed. “Wait ‘til I introduce you to the Lord and Lady Au’Foux. Oh, they’re brilliant. And all one person! Bit of a Jekyll and Hyde situation except, well, not like that at all. Oh! And guess who else is gonna be there?”

The Doctor went on like that, talking animatedly and trying on outfits Yaz thought both bizarre and, occasionally, exquisite. 

Truthfully, Yaz would have been content just to spend the night like that - listening to the Doctor talk about the many strange and wonderful beings she’d encountered throughout her life, watching her ransack her entire wardrobe, sitting, listening, basking in the Doctor’s elation as though she were a sun and Yaz were bathing in her warm light. It occurred to her then that even if the Doctor was just another person - earthbound like the rest of them - Yaz would probably feel exactly the same way about her. She made every mundane detail, every otherwise unnoticed moment, sound so incredible and awe-inspiring that all Yaz ever wanted to do was see things through her eyes.

How stunning a picture it must be.

///

Yaz was waiting in the console room. 

The Doctor had helped her to pick out an outfit for the gala, a strapless black dress whose fabric seemed to shimmer with a sky full of stars whenever she moved. It definitely was not of her world. By the time Yaz left, The Doctor still hadn’t settled on an outfit for herself, apparently too nervous to be at all decisive. 

Yaz was nervous, too.

There she was, sitting atop the steps of the TARDIS wearing a gorgeous dress, waiting for the Doctor to escort her to the gala as if waiting for her date to take her to prom. Except it wasn’t a date. 

The Doctor had meant for everybody to come, and it was only because Graham and Ryan had decided to play matchmaker that she alone would be joining the Doctor. The Doctor, for all her brilliance, was shockingly naive when it came down to matters of the heart. Yaz felt so strongly about the Doctor sometimes that she swore she could feel it oozing out of her every pore. It was this big thing inside of her, so big it ached like it was pressing against her ribs and her chest, urging for some type of release. One type of release in particular. Yaz was honestly surprised that these feelings hadn’t become a visible, tangible aura exuding from her whenever she and the Doctor shared the same space. 

More than that, she was surprised the Doctor hadn’t at all picked up on it. It couldn’t have been that she was subtle about it, because Ryan had dropped the first hint that he knew how she felt almost as soon as they’d started travelling together. Which left two options:

The Doctor was blind, or she was choosing to be.

One was frustrating, but the other was heartbreaking. She imagined for a moment that the Doctor did, in fact, know how Yaz felt, but that she actively chose never to acknowledge it. It seemed too cruel a thing for someone so lovely as the Doctor. Surely, if she knew, she would say something - even to let her down gently (because at present, Yaz wasn’t holding out much hope for the Doctor returning her feelings). 

Yaz heard footsteps. She straightened, eyes darting toward the hallway. 

Ryan.

Yaz instantly felt bad about the glimmer of disappointment that dampened the wings of the butterflies in her stomach. She smiled at him. 

“Hi, Ryan.”

“Alright, Yaz?” He spotted her sitting on the steps, stopped by the controls, and frowned down at her. “Wow. You actually look...”

Yaz raised a pointed eyebrow, challenging him to find the correct way to end that sentence. Ryan, struggling, decided to settle on an awkward smile as he sat down on the step in front of her, leaning against the railing and looking up at her. 

“What’s up with you?” He asked. “I thought you’d be dead excited about your _date_ with the Doctor.”

”It’s not a date,” Yaz insisted, noticeably irked. 

“Really? Two people dressing up to go to some fancy space gala together?” Ryan shrugged nonchalantly. “Sounds like a date to me. Pretty good one, too. Least you know she isn’t cheap.”

”Ryan,” The tone of Yaz’s voice suggested she wasn’t much in the mood for Ryan’s banter. “Look, if she’d meant it that way, why would she have invited you and Graham? Believe me, romance is the furthest thing from the Doctor’s mind right now. Probably for the best.”

”Wait, what?” Ryan leaned back and narrowed his eyes at Yaz. “She told you she invited us?” 

“Yeah. Didn’t she?”

A second passed. Ryan bit back a smile and shook his head at Yaz; at how alike she and the Doctor were in their naivety. Yaz, realising that Ryan’s silence was an answer in and of itself, and subsequently realising the potential implications behind the Doctor’s white lie, felt a blush spread across her face and ears. 

Ryan started to laugh into his fist. “You two, I swear.”

”What we laughing about?” The Doctor chimed in, materialising at the other side of the room as if the TARDIS has just plucked her from thin air. 

Yaz was on her feet instantly, which only set Ryan off more. 

“Hi Yaz,” The Doctor smiled, and Yaz couldn’t be certain whether she detected a note of sheepishness there, in the tone of her voice and in the slightly lower tilt of her head. “You look great! I knew that dress would be perfect on you.”

”Thanks. I...” Yaz didn’t know what to say.

Yaz didn’t know what to say because the Doctor was wearing a suit. It was a little like the suit she’d worn the first time they met, only it wasn’t scorched and filthy, and it fit her figure a hell of a lot better. Lining the suit jacket was the very same fabric Yaz’s dress had been made from, revealing a universe in motion whenever she moved. There was a pale blue flower attached to her lapel and a golden collar chain pinned to her white shirt in place of a tie. Yaz’s heart stopped - she swore it did. 

“You look...” Yaz tried again, cursing every word in existence for fleeing her in her time of need. 

“Here,” The Doctor said, taking no notice of Yaz’s struggle to articulate a single thing and approaching her with another blue flower in hand. “It’s native to the planet Aztenia. All the money from the benefit tonight goes to helping save their planet. It’s drowning. The planet, I mean. Global warming really should be taken more seriously. Now the civilisation need a new home. Imagine that. A homeless planet. It happens a lot, actually...”

As the Doctor rambled on (Yaz refused to entertain the idea that the Doctor’s obvious nerves had anything to do with her) about the Aztenian crisis, she fastened the flower onto the breast of Yaz’s dress with a pin. Yaz found her eyes wandering to the Doctor’s neck, her face, her lips. All the while, Ryan watched from the side, trying to catch Yaz’s eye just so she could see how hilarious he found this whole ordeal.

”There!” The Doctor stepped back when she was done. “Now we match, eh?”

And they did match. Both of them, in their expensive black attire, with identical flower pins, and identical, unreadable expressions on their faces. Yaz couldn’t help the wave of nostalgia that rolled over her then. This was a lot like prom.

”Say cheese,” Ryan said.

Before Yaz could protest, he snapped a picture of the two of them on his phone, his grin widening when he saw the mortified look on Yaz’s face. _Now_ it was like prom, wherein Ryan took the place of her parents and she took the place of infatuated, embarrassed, awkward teenager. Thankfully, the Doctor thought nothing of it. 

“Right, are you ready then Yaz?” The Doctor asked.

And, as if to make matters worse, she offered her arm to Yaz. Her throat felt tight. The Doctor, dressed to the nines in one of the most dapper getups Yaz had ever seen, was going to escort her. To the gala. Alone. All of this, every part of it, would have been like something out of a dream of hers - if only Ryan hadn’t been standing at the sidelines, buzzing like a bee in a dropped box. Yaz hadn’t a doubt in her mind that as soon as they left, Graham would be hearing all about this. 

But that was a problem for later. Right now, the Doctor was offering Yaz her arm, and Yaz would be damned if she wasn’t going to take it. 

“Let’s go.”

///

The gala was everything the Doctor had promised it would be. 

She had escorted Yaz from the TARDIS to what was essentially an otherworldly castle. Like something from an old gothic picture, it loomed over the snowy landscape, standing stark and stone-white against the inky blackness of the night. Guests were still arriving, some via teleportation - like themselves - some on spacecrafts, rental hovercrafts, road vehicles, you name it. As promised, the guests included a whole host of species, both from this galaxy and those surrounding it. 

Yaz was not so used to this life that she didn’t take a moment to appreciate the diversity of those in attendance. Even among the more humanoid of them, it seemed Yaz was the only genuine human being at the gala. Beings of every origin, every shape and size, every colour or complete lack thereof, mingled throughout the castle. The Doctor explained to Yaz that this was made possible through a localised translator beam emitted from a satellite above the venue.

Not entirely dissimilar to the TARDIS.

Inside, the place was exactly as beautiful as the Doctor told her it was rumoured to be. A skylight allowed natural moon and starshine to seep into the main hall, lending a haunting but magnificent glow to the overall atmosphere. To the right, a band played instruments foreign to Yaz, and hummed soft, mesmerising lyrics. Art and portraits hung on the walls, as well as a variety of unnameable items of decal. 

No sooner had they arrived than the other guests began to flock to the Doctor. Yaz ignored the thing that happened in the pit of her stomach when the Doctor released her arm in favour of shaking the tentacle of an apparent admirer. Instead, Yaz plucked a bright pink drink from one of the floating trays, crossed her fingers that it was safe to drink, and downed an entire flute in one large swallow.

The Doctor did try, very hard, to involve Yaz in all her countless interactions. Yaz, too, made a huge effort. After all, she was listening to stories told by living legends of all the fantastical, heroic adventures they had been on. It was an unparalleled experience; she knew that. Unfortunately, Yaz’s limited knowledge in the area of intergalactic philanthropy hindered her end of the conversation. When she continuously found herself coming up short, she gave in, drinking the pink drinks one after the other and, after a short while, finding herself relieved that it seemed to be working.

She was getting drunk.

If she wasn’t mistaken, so was the Doctor.

Granted, the Doctor was taking it much slower than Yaz was, and she was probably better at metabolising whatever they were drinking, so it took a little longer to notice the effects. But they were there. 

The Doctor began to slightly slur her words, and laughed a little too hard at things that probably weren’t supposed to be very funny in the first place. She would lean in to Yaz to whisper something about somebody, to talk about the amazing work they had done or just spill an interesting secret, and end up stumbling into her and all but shouting, all discretion out the window. 

It had been over an hour when the Doctor slung her arm across Yaz’s shoulders and said “I want to take a tour. Let’s take a tour. Shall we?”

Of course, Yaz said yes.

So they slipped away, behind the red ropes which were clearly meant to indicate forbidden access. But then, nowhere was forbidden where the Doctor was concerned. Yaz wasn’t sure when the Doctor had taken hold of her hand, or at what point their fingers had locked together, but she wasn’t about to protest.

The din of the hall behind them died down as they turned a corner, finding yet more portraits lining the walls of the corridor

”Oh! That’s Queen Ylsa,” The Doctor pointed to a picture of a woman with paper-white hair, dark skin, and eyes that seemed to glow even in the confines of the 2D imitation. “Very wily woman. Great with an axe. She proper fancied me.” 

“Yeah?” Yaz felt happy. Especially when she looked across at the Doctor, who had a similarly relaxed and slightly lopsided smile on her face. “Can’t imagine why.”

The Doctor met Yaz’s gaze. They were so close, here, and it was so quiet. They might have allowed themselves to melt into the moment, let it be what it was, had the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching not lured them out of their own private fantasies.

”Is someone down here?” Came a thick, wet voice from around the corner.

”Oh, I cant get kicked out of the gala,” The Doctor whisper-shouted. “They’ll never let me come back again!”

”This way.”

Yaz pulled at the Doctor’s hand, and for once it was the Doctor following Yaz as they sprinted giddily along endless corridors and raced up a flight of steep, stone steps in order to evade a man who was unlikely to even be chasing them. Yaz thought it a wonder neither of them slipped. That said, it was a small wonder indeed when compared to the perfectly rumpled, slightly out of breath Time Lord currently doubled over laughing at her side. 

“You are a bad influence on me, Yasmin Khan,” The Doctor eventually said once she was finished laughing.

”This was your idea!” Yaz protested, still half laughing herself.

”Yeah, it kinda was,” The Doctor winked. “Don’t tell anyone, eh? Where are we anyway? We should probably make our way back.”

Yaz looked around, noticing their surroundings for the first time. In their haste, they had barged into what seemed like a master bedroom. Drapes hung from the windows, from fixtures on the wall, from the bed posts. Swathes of velvety fabric, rustled slightly by a breeze coming in through a cracked window, created within the room a feeling of life. Movement. And, due to the abundance of deep crimsons and spatterings of gold and silver throughout the room, an air of romance was born. Rather, it was stirred to life. It already existed between the women prior to their discovery of the bedroom.

Yaz drifted towards the window. 

Behind the castle, the vast expanse of snowy hills dissolved into an impossible forest. Impossible in that not a drop of snow or a touch of frost seemed to have graced it. The leaves were lush shades of pink and purple, the bark greener than life itself. That forest portrayed not the desolation of winter, but spring’s promise of new life.

Yaz might have asked about it, about why it was that there seemed to be a physical line drawn by nature to separate the seasons, but she found she was quite intent to just look at it and admire it. 

The Doctor came up behind her. Being taller than Yaz, she had to lift the curtain above Yaz’s head to the side to get a good look, and Yaz couldn’t help her hyper awareness concerning how close her back was to the Doctor’s front, or how clearly she could hear the Doctor’s slow and even breaths, each of them prickling the small hairs on the back of her neck. 

“Doctor,” Yaz whispered.

”Yes, Yaz?” The Doctor whispered back.

Yaz turned around, trapped still between the window and the Doctor’s body. The Doctor still had her hand pressed against the curtain at the wall, as if pinning Yaz there, and she showed no signs of moving aside. Yaz looked up into the hazel of her eyes. Usually, she could count on finding an element of joy, excitement, wonder in those eyes. This time around, she found something else.

Maybe it was the drinking. Maybe it was the light, or a product of both wishful thinking and an overactive imagination, but Yaz swore she could see something like desire in the depths of the Doctor’s eyes.

”You didn’t invite Ryan and Graham,” Yaz said. Not a question. 

“No,” The Doctor confirmed. “I didn’t.”

”Why?”

The Doctor’s gaze shifted from Yaz’s eyes to her mouth. Yaz’s whole body thrummed with anticipation; she was not imagining this. This was not a dream. The Doctor really was looking at her like, well, like a predator looking at her prey. And Yaz was living for it. 

“You’re a clever girl, Yaz. You know why,” The Doctor said, relocating her focus once more to Yaz’s eyes. 

Yaz smiled. She gave the Doctor’s suit a slow, deliberate once over. “Have I ever told you how good you look in a suit?” She asked, bolder now than she would have dared to be before the interference of liquid courage. 

The Doctor breathed a laugh that Yaz felt, like a warm zephyr, on her cheek. And they stood there, faces centimetres apart, smiling at one another. Because now this thing they had both been desperately trying to mask, this great big puzzle of the heart, had become so painfully clear to them that it was almost funny. 

Gradually, the smiles slipped from their faces. Yaz, though she knew what was to come next, was not entirely prepared for it. 

The Doctor was the one to initiate the kiss.

She pressed her body against Yaz, backing her flat against the floor-to-ceiling window, and ducked her head that their lips might find one another. And they did. After so long spent searching and wanting and hurting, their lips found one another, and it was glorious.

It started, as these things do, slowly. A soft kiss in front of a stunning view, between two people who were perhaps too concerned with being tender, with being delicate and considerate. But then the Doctor pressed her other hand against the glass to the side of Yaz’s head, and Yaz pulled the Doctor in closer by the fabric of her suit jacket, and the tempo shifted. 

Bodies pressed flush against one another, hands roaming desperately and fiercely, they kissed up a storm.

Truly, Yaz felt like she was standing in the eye of a hurricane. 

Some time went by, though how much exactly was lost on both women, when they broke apart. Only just. Their mouths still hovered dangerously close to one another, and the Doctor still had Yaz pinned to the window. There was a question in the Doctor’s eyes. Yaz didn’t need the help of any extraterrestrial translation technology to translate it.

Yaz nodded once, completely sure.

The Doctor smiled. 

She took Yaz by her hand and led her towards the bed, where she proceeded to push her gently down onto her back. Yaz took that precise instant - an instant spent lying on the softest, most velveteen sheets she had ever felt, with her eyes following the Doctor’s capable fingers as they unbuttoned her jacket and the collar of her shirt - to appreciate the moment for what it was. That moment was everything Yaz had been waiting for.

It was something she’d been waiting for even in the time before she knew the Doctor. Not the kiss, not the sex, but the woman herself and everything she was. She was the promise of hope, of better things, of real love amidst a universe running on real anguish. 

In that moment, it all belonged to Yaz. 

 _She_ belonged to Yaz.

The Doctor climbed on top of her. She took hold of Yaz’s wrists, holding them down above her head. Their eyes locked briefly, through the mess of dishevelled blonde hair falling over the Doctor’s face, and it dawned on Yaz then that she’d never felt so safe in her life. Not with anybody.

”Ready?” The Doctor asked, voice barely audible but for the ghost of an impression the consonants left behind on the otherwise total silence of the room.

Yaz seemed to consent with her eyes alone. “Ready.”

Though ready she claimed to be, and though Yaz had waited for this for so long, she would come to find that nothing on the known universe could have prepared her for what it meant to have the Doctor give herself to Yaz entirely. Skin glistening in sweat and starlight, bodies wrapped up in blood red threads woven seemingly from the clouds themselves at the hands of gods, Yaz came to divine a state of pure and absolute ecstasy she hadn’t thought possible. 

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each time, Yaz felt a surge of fire and ice and pleasure and pain coursing through her veins, everything a perfect paradox beneath the Doctor’s touch. She felt as if she were laying with an angel. Someone so holy in all the dirtiest of ways.

Yaz came to accept the fact that she was putty in the hands of a god. A creative, sensual, giving god. Every slight quirk of her fingers or flick of her tongue was deliberate and produced unfailingly satisfying results. The Doctor knew what she was doing. Yaz never questioned that.

Frankly, Yaz never wanted it to end.

But it did.

It ended with them both lying breathless and mostly naked on the bed. Yaz could still feel the waves of euphoria, like aftershocks, rocking the core of her being. She was speechless. Which was fine, really, because words wouldn’t cut it. Not now. Not after that. She felt the mattress shift when the Doctor rolled onto her side to look at Yaz a few moments later.

”Yaz,” She said, her name sounding so tender compared with the way it had sounded coming out of her mouth just minutes prior. 

Yaz rolled onto her side, too. “Doctor.”

The Doctor didn’t say anything for a minute, but Yaz read something in her glassy eyes and creased brow. The Doctor blinked her eyes dry and rested a hand on Yaz’s cheek, brushing her thumb over the corner of her lips. It wasn’t a loaded touch. It was just a touch. 

“What is it?” Yaz prompted patiently.

”It’s really selfish,” The Doctor divulged. “I shouldn’t.”

Yaz smiled warmly. For as long as she had known the Doctor, she’d never once known her to be selfish. But she was just a person, and she was allowed to want things for herself, and Yaz silently swore to herself then that she was going to help the Doctor realise this one day.

”Be selfish,” Yaz said. “Tell me what you want.”

The Doctor searched Yaz’s face. After a beat, filled with apprehension, she spoke. “I just want you to stay. That’s it. I don’t want you to break my heart.”

Yaz’s smile fell from her face.

The Doctor had endured her share of heartbreak, this she knew. Loved ones lost to the passage of time or claimed by the cruelties of the universe, family and friends stolen from her for the rest of her long, long life. Now here she was, completely vulnerable before Yaz, asking her to be the exception. 

The truth was, Yaz would never intentionally break the Doctor’s heart. Not ever. 

Except that was out of her control.

Yaz was a human being and the Doctor was a Time Lord. Even if, just once, one of the Doctor’s companions were able to spend their whole life at the Doctor’s side, the Doctor would still have the rest of her life to live after they were gone. One way or another, Yaz was going to break the Doctor’s heart. If the Doctor didn’t break hers first.

In spite of all this - in spite of each of them knowing the tragedy of their fate - Yaz refused to allow that tragedy to taint the Doctor’s drunken, unfounded hope this night. 

So she made an impossible promise. ”I’ll never leave you, Doctor.”

And the Doctor, impossibly, allowed herself to believe it.


End file.
